


A Thoroughly Unreliable Narration

by Devilbaby



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Also Romance, Friendship, Gen, shippy but not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilbaby/pseuds/Devilbaby
Summary: (Written for the tadfield advertiser kinkmeme on dreamwidth: https://tadfield-advertiser.dreamwidth.org/)Aziraphale has a danger kink and keeps getting himself into dangerous situations on purpose because he knows Crowley will show up and rescue him every time.





	A Thoroughly Unreliable Narration

It's not as though Aziraphale seeks out danger, oh no. Danger simply has a habit of sneaking up on him. And it's not - as Crowley so often insists - as though he were in danger _constantly_ ; only three or four times a century, give or take. Granted it tended to add up over the course of a millennia or six but he was an angel after all and heaven's representative on earth and seeing as how he was meant to be thwarting evil and wickedness it would be terribly neglectful of him if he didn't occasionally fall into harm's way. It's not as though he could foil Satan by staying home and reading a book (though it was a lovely thought).

Besides, he is perfectly capable of rescuing himself. Crowley's just impatient and a bit of a worry-wort and thus when danger does befall Aziraphale he tends to involve himself whether the angel needs him to or not (he doesn't, of course). Secretly, Aziraphale thinks Crowley must enjoy coming to his rescue however much he complains about it afterwards, otherwise he wouldn't do it so often, would he? And if that be the case, wouldn't a good friend (maybe, _occasionally_ ) let the danger linger a beat or two longer than necessary, just on the off chance an overprotective demon with nothing better to do happens to catch wind of it and decide to lend an unholy hand?

It's not as if Aziraphale takes any pleasure in any of it, of course not. He understands human biology well enough to know that an elevated heartbeat, a tingling sensation in his spine and a rush of excitement are perfectly normal reactions to danger. And if his reaction to seeing Crowley come swanning in to 'save' him is an even bigger rush of giddy excitement followed by a wine-warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, well. That's no one's affair but his own.

This is all Crowley's fault, is what he's saying. If his demonic friend weren't so captivated by the idea of being Aziraphale's personal knight in black armor - and if Aziraphale weren't such an accommodating friend in return - then he would have already miracled himself free of these ropes, dealt with the nefarious schemers who were currently holding him hostage and be on his angelic way. As it is he's kneeling in the dirt behind a building of questionable virtue, trying not to think about what all this filth is doing to his trousers and waiting rather impatiently for Crowley to show up because Aziraphale had been expecting him ten minutes ago at least. 

"I'd much rather you not shoot me," he says, because it's true.

"Shouldn't 'a been pokin' about in our business, then," the man growls, cocking the gun at him and Aziraphale sighs because it looks like this time he might actually have to take care of things himself. It's not that he's been looking forward to seeing Crowley, understand, it's just that Aziraphale's gone out of his way to bring things to this particular point and it involved several acts of willful stupidity on his part and he'd rather not have to play the fool if Crowley wasn't even going to appreciate all the trouble he went through. 

Honestly, the things he did for friendship.

Hooligan Number Two steps up beside him, tapping a crowbar against his leg with casual malice. "Don't shoot 'em," he drawls, "too much noise. We'll handle this the quiet way." He raises the crowbar over Aziraphale's head and the angel is just about to miracle himself away when the man stops, a look of surprise on his face. 

"That would be a very big mistake," Crowley says. He's appeared behind the man like a second shadow, one hand gripping the crowbar and he pulls it from the brute's grasp with no effort at all. Aziraphale shudders as the familiar warmth spreads through him, an exhilarating sparkle of feeling he blames entirely on the demon. (It always made one feel good to watch a friend enjoy themselves, after all.)

The first ruffian points the gun at Crowley and fires; it makes a popping sound and small flag unfurls from the muzzle, "BANG!" written across it in large, blocky letters. He drops it and the two criminals stare at each other, uncertain now their weapons are gone. "This is the part where you run away very fast," Crowley says to them. They hesitate and he pulls off his glasses, staring at them with devil-marked eyes. "Now!"

A moment later all that's left of them are the fading echo of running feet.

"You're letting them go?" Aziraphale asks, and isn't sure how he feels about it. On the one hand he always liked it when Crowley let his better nature peek through, and as a servant of light he was predisposed to approve of things like mercy and forgiveness. On the other, those men were about to discorporate him and he can't help but feel the slightest bit insulted Crowley was going to let them off with nothing more than a warning.

Crowley shrugs, "Don't see why not. They'll be fine as long as they don't go running out into the middle of the street in a blind panic and get hit by the number 4 bus." A moment later there's a squeal of tires, the sound of colliding metal and two suspicious thumps. Crowley shakes his head in mock sympathy. "You take your eyes off the road for a moment..."

Aziraphale stands, brushing clumsily at his trousers with bound hands. He could free himself of course but he wouldn't dream of taking the moment away from Crowley; it was his favorite bit.

"Right," Crowley says, guesting at the ropes around Aziraphale's wrists. They start to smoke, turn black and fall harmlessly away, shriveling to nothing on the ground. "What was it this time?"

It takes Aziraphale a moment to hide his smile, and another to answer. He did love watching Crowley work. Such flair..."Oh, they were scoundrels!" he says, rubbing his wrists. "They tried to sell me counterfeit books."

Crowley stares at him, incredulous half smile stuck to his face like taffy. "You're telling me you almost got discorporated over a couple fake books?"

"Oh, not just any fake books! They were really quite skilled you know. I could barely tell the difference myself and I was there when some of them were written. Who knows how many people they've swindled."

Crowley shakes his head, turning toward the street. "Unbelievable," he mutters. "Come on, angel. I'll give you a ride home." 

Aziraphale smiles and falls in step, still relishing the warm feeling in his stomach and telling himself it was nothing more than the glow of happiness one experienced after helping out a friend. It felt good to be useful.

He hopes it's not too long before he gets to be useful again.


End file.
